


Oblivion’s Spring

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Death Wish, F/M, Orc Culture, Prostitution, Suicidal Thoughts, dubcon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Erebor and the destruction of Dale the once wealthy city of Lake Town sank into poverty. The dwindling trade has left a merchant’s daughter with no option but to sell her body to survive. Yet as time passes, surviving does not seem paramount anymore, on the contrary the girl begins to dream of the dragon rising from its mountain and drowning the city in a blaze of fire. One autumn evening death appears to come knocking, even if he’s another kind of beast…</p><p>  <span class="small">Azog is as un-monstrous as I could possibly make him. He’s neither the hero nor the villain in this piece.</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know when Orc Porn became a thing but obviously I'm not the only one who's developed a taste for it. 
> 
>  
> 
> So after finishing [Nightshade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1118994) which had been simmering in my head for a good eight months, I had the feeling that I still wasn't through with the topic and I considered possible pairings but none of the obvious options appealed to me. I also did not want to go for the classical „ambush, abduct, assault“-story, so I thought about a setting that could be at least a dub-con-fic. So I came up with a female prostitute with a death wish. Yeah, I know, problematic as hell. But also as vanilla as it gets with the Defiler.
> 
> Also, for obvious reasons, I took quite some liberties with my orc. To find this story alluring you have to go with me on the assumption that, once you’ve subtracted the racist stereotypes from the original story, you will find orcs to be a strange and admittedly somewhat barbaric culture, that is based on quite a lot of non-pleasant beliefs and problematic tendencies but is nowhere as distinctly evil as it’s usually portrayed. In my imagination orc societies are characterised by a cult of war and courage and self-discipline which finds its expression in some body-mod-techniques like scarification and the likes. That’s what makes them so ugly in the eyes of other races that hold physical integrity in high value. There isn't much of this that really made it into the story, sadly, but well, that's the issues of PWP.
> 
> **PS on the question: How noncon is my dubcon?**  
>  Azog is handsome for an Orc but still (at least) super-frightening by human standards and while he does not exactly rape the female protagonist in a sense of using physical force, he still threatens and tricks her to do his bidding. It is also implied he picked her for her death wish, which is - needless to say - highly problematic, too. I’m sorry that his has become such a trigger bomb (well, it's Orc Porn after all); although it is, like all my stories, more of a ravishment fantasy than an actual rape-fic.
> 
> However, I hope you enjoy the fic. Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Title inspired by [this song](http://ashborer.bandcamp.com/track/oblivions-spring)

Winter had come early that year, razing all colour from the world and plunging Lake Town into constant twilight. Though it was barely past harvest season, rime already crawled over the roofs and ice flowers began to bloom on the window panes. Not long till the washing bowls would freeze over during the night and the first snow would flutter from the clouds.

Seven years had gone by since the Lonely Mountain had been aglow with the wrath of the dragon and Dale had burnt and Erebor fallen. Seven years during which poverty had found its way into Esgaroth, followed closely by hunger and sickness. With the dwarves gone and Dale turned to ash, the trade had dwindled and died and the once wealthy city of the Long Lake had sunk into ruin. These days the ships in the harbour carried fish and firewood rather than bales of cloth and chests filled with gems, they brought plain grain and cattle instead of fine wines and foreign spices. „It’s no place for us anymore, Vilya, my sweet“, her father had said as the last spring had dawned upon the lake. „We must go, back to the land of my fathers. To the east, where the sun is warm and the people friendly.“ The memory had sparked a smile into his sunken eyes and then, holding his hand, so fragile in her fingers, the skin thin and waxen, stretched tight over bone, she had watched the life running out of him, last of their treasures.

Time had not stopped when he died, seasons still came and went, and now as the year was fading so were her spirits. Day after day she sat at the oriel window facing the lake and watched the floes dance on the waves and the fog drift and swirl. She stared until her eyes watered and her head hurt and the sky was blurring into the shore was blurring into the lake. If someone had asked what she was doing, she would have answered that she was waiting for the sun. Only one ray of light to brighten her existence and render her nights more bearable. But there was none to care about her days or her longing. And the sun would not come and with every passing hour she forgot a little how its warmth would feel on her skin. So one evening, when another day had run out and the mouldy grey dimmed into nightfall, she lit the lamps with fingers stiff from the cold and she gazed north, where even through the mist she could see the shape of the mountain looming into the sky and she made a wish.

It was a dark and selfish desire that had spread in her soul and in the light of day she would never have admitted to it, but then, when night fell and the darkness was complete, she wished for the dragon to rise once more from its lair, to soar mighty and proud, high and higher into the sky. She could nearly hear it, a sound like an oncoming storm and then feel the wind, like a caress on her skin. She imagined how Smaug would sweep the town with a gust of fire: Colours would blaze once more, bright and clear, flames lick at wood and flicker over the roofs and at last the dragon’s breath would quench the cold from her flesh and eat the pain off her bones.

She dreamt this secret dream every day, when the hunger was gnawing at her insides and the cold bit into her limbs and there was nothing but emptiness in her purse. She thought about it every nightfall as she lit the fire and put on her last silken dress. She painted her lips with the red of blood and the coal around her eyes was as black as the charred men of Dale and thus prepared she set out to walk the streets.

The breeze was sharp on this particular night and she wrapped herself tighter in her cloak, pulling the hood deep into her face. The planks of the boardwalk creaked under her steps and the lake gurgled seductively underneath, as if it knew of her fantasies. Oblivion lay right there, under her feet. But once she had set her mind on a pyre, the embrace of water held no promise anymore. If anything she wanted from death but forgetting, it was to feel warm once again.  And so, unperturbed by the temptations, she made her way towards her usual patch behind the Old Tavern. 

As she drew closer to the inns and public houses of the town, the deserted alleys broadened into streets and squares crowded with people. In front of the Blue Pike there was the usual brawl going on, people cheering and yelling until the arrival of the city watch temporarily put a stop to the fun, and quickly, she seized the chance to sneak past the onlookers. She passed the Mermaid and the Lantern from which seeped merry music and the smells of ale and roast meat. Her mouth watered and her stomach growled but she neither lingered nor paused until she had reached her destination, a narrow and dark lane that wound itself behind the ale houses.

Harlots Alley was nearly abandoned at this hour, too late for the daytime business, too early for the night crawlers. It was only supper time after all. She slipped past the other women and the boys, nearly unseen, thankful for her old coat that helped to conceal her from prying eyes. At her usual spot, a dark corner between two houses, she opened its clasp and took off the hood, revealing the fine red dress underneath. It was an alluring colour, dark as old wine, yet simple enough she had not to fear it might be taken from her. Like this she stood quietly, waiting for fate to take its course. 

Nothing happened for a while. A couple of men came looking for boys. Some passed her by without notice, keen to reach their regular choice. Then no one. The night grew black as tar and when she nearly would have believed that all light was lost to the world, the moon rose over the roofs, nearly full, a large blurred lantern behind the clouds. For a while she pondered whether she found it calming or mocking, as it hung there, deep in the sky, only a pale reflection of the sun, hiding away like she herself in that dark alleyway, shivering like weed in the wind. Hours went by and patience grew into despair. As much as she despised the slap of flesh on flesh, the grunts and the groans and the shame inflaming her cheeks, without it she would not eat the next day.

Just when she was about to abandon all hope, there was something peculiar in the chill. She sniffed, once, twice. The faint memory of mountain fire flickering in the air, harsh and dangerous and exciting. She held her nose into the draft to get more than this wisp, when the shadow fell unto the street, spilled into the corners like ink. If she’d not already been trembling with cold, goosebumps would have woken on her skin and her stomach cramped with foreboding. 

The shadow’s owner was tall, taller than anyone she’d ever seen and broader, yet he moved as silent as a large cat. Apart from his giant form, that hardly could be concealed, his long black cloak gave nothing away of his features. Darkness seemed to gather around him, shrouding him like a spell. She held her breath as he walked down the narrow lane, intrigued and frightened at the same time. The chatter of the whores died down as he passed. Instead of the usual calls and offers, they fell silent and ducked out of sight, pressing themselves to the walls of the houses. He paid no heed to them though and she had the strangest notion: It felt as if he had smelled her too and was drawn by her scent. 

He stopped, merely paces from her and still she could not see his face.

„I like your dress“, he said. He formed the words carefully, slowly with an accent thick on his tongue, like a hiss and a growl underneath. And then he bowed down and whispered. „And I like you smell.“ 

For one short moment she caught a glimpse of his face under the hood, white as bone and jagged as the ice floes on the lake, a nose like a lion’s and piercing blue eyes… Her hand rose to her mouth to stifle a gasp and she took a step back, the terror like stones in her belly.

He followed her, like a dog sensing fear, his bulk looming over her and this time she could see the curl of his lips beneath the shadows.

„Are your favours not for sale?“, he asked, drawing closer.

And now she smelt it again, smoky fire beneath old stone, the spice of heat and iron. A shiver run down her spine, excitement and fear mingling. Perhaps it would not have to be a dragon after all.

„They are“, she said and mustering all courage she looked up into his face.

He smiled a predator’s smile, sharp teeth flashing behind thin lips, and her knees weakened. Just before she lost her footing, he caught her elbow and with ease held her upright. The warmth of his fingers filtered through the thick cloth and she wondered if they were red-hot like iron straight from the forge but before she could have a look, he had let go of her.

„Lead the way then“, he said.

It was strange, to have him trailing her through the city. Where usually she squeezed herself past groups of people, they suddenly cleared her path. They never stole more than a glance at her as she walked by, proud in her red dress and the dark figure following in her tracks.

The further they went, the more her nerves calmed and she found that after a while, she had conquered the fear of this beast and felt oddly at ease with him, strolling behind her. At last they reached her house at the northern edge of the town and she held open the door for him.

„Come in“, she said – one final time fighting the urge to scream and to run; and ducking his head, he entered her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention: Apart from the other stuff I put in my disclaimer, orc cocks in this tale are a tad different from human ones. Not like apfelgranate's great xenogenitalia. Only a bit. Just so you know.

What irony that from all of her father’s wealth, she had only been able to salvage her parent’s bed, an enormous four-poster, which was as out of place in her tiny house as was the huge creature she had brought home. She remembered how as a child this very bed had been her refuge from nightmares, a safe haven from everything that had scared her. She remembered her mother’s embrace and her fathers soothing words, the books and the milk and the warmth, the comforting, reassuring warmth. Now it was the place where she plied her trade, where she let herself be used for carnal desires and unspeakable acts. 

Bracing herself she turned around. He still stood there, just behind the door, in his cloak and hood, the head tilted with interest, observing her every move – as if this were as strange to him at it was to her. She untied the ribbon holding her hair and shook it free, long strands falling freely over her shoulders like a veil. He just looked at her. She got out of her shoes, kicking them carelessly into a corner. Who knew if she ever needed them again. As still he did not move, she plucked up her courage and drew closer. Raising herself on tip toes she reached up to remove his hood. 

What she found underneath made her stagger backwards, against one of the massive bedposts, her hands clutching helplessly at the wood behind her. It would not offer her solace, nothing of its old warmth to soothe her awe-stricken heart; cold and distant it stood in her way of escape, for now she truly wanted to run and to hide. Whatever she had expected, a warrior from the north, an adventurer, a soldier of fortune perhaps, of tall build and shady reputation, this was not it. Her suitor was – quite literally - not a man. Nor was he anything she’d ever set eyes on, not even on the page of a book. He appeared to be cut from white rock, half men and half beast. Not a hair was to be found on his body, yet he looked strangely feline, the flat nose and the pointy ears and even the pale bluish eyes. 

He smiled at her, again revealing his teeth and now she could see that there were actual fangs among them, long and sharp as daggers, and she tried to scream but no sound came from her throat and then he was upon her, slapping his paw over her mouth, containing the panic writhing within her. Like venom the dread spread through her body, smothering her resistance. She had not even realised that she had struggled until her defiance died under his grasp. 

As she gazed up at him, eyes wide with fear, he placed a forefinger to his own lips, signalling her to be silent. She nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth and instead, stroked her cheek, then the long tresses of her hair, surprisingly gentle. 

„So soft“, He murmured, the consonants sharp like a snake’s hiss underneath gravel.

Numb and frozen, she submitted to the caress, her mind reeling with horror. What would he do to her? What fate had she brought down on herself? 

She waited for his hands to close around her neck, for a slap or a punch, a shove or a bite, but instead, he lowered his head to kiss her. At first only the brush of his lips against hers, his breath steaming hot, then the soft slip of tongue, the tentative nip of his mouth and after a while she felt her terror melting and swimming away. Wasn’t this what she had been waiting for all along? To be devoured by a monster she’d invited? How befitting that at last, a nightmare incarnate, had come to her bed, taking away the dreams and the pains in exchange for her body’s service… She imagined the dragon again, its breath licking the flesh off her body. Nothing could take that calm from her, not even him. 

When he sensed her easing up in his arms, he abruptly let go. 

Confused she stumbled after the parting warmth and as she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling again. A smug and sly smile, like a cat’s that had helped itself to the cream. Now that she was coming to terms with her fate, it invoked the oddest of desires: to run her hands over his body like she would stroke a pet, ruffling its fur, just to see if he’d purr. And at the same time, she pictured to wipe this smirk from his face with a blow of her hand and a scratch of her nails. She looked at him, noticing a flicker of pink against his lips, like he was licking them in anticipation, and something stirred, deep within her. 

Just as if he had sensed it, his grin broadened. His hands rose to unclasp his robe, shed the furs, unbuckle the leather armour. Bashfully she lowered her eyes; it was not her place to stare. Yet she could not refrain from stealing a glance.

The body beneath the clothes was as nonhuman as it was magnificent: white as marble and bone, muscles running like ropes from his thick neck, flexing under the smooth skin. Sinew and brawn braided into perfection. A creature from the beginning of time, when Arda was young and Eru still curious. Its beauty was marred though, by deep carvings in his flesh, some silvern and faded, some still fresh and pink. The regularity in the pattern betrayed them to be ornate in origin, not wounds of a battle. 

Who would do such a thing? she thought, appalled. Desecrate healthy flesh, cut through skin and risk infection? She imagined herself holding a blade though, trailing it over the tender flesh and leaving an angry red trace in its wake, and for some reason, the idea excited her more than the kiss or his nakedness. 

A chuckle emerged from her customer’s throat, low and harsh. He said something in a language that sounded even coarser than his accent, hard and guttural and rough. When she blinked in incomprehension, he repeated the words in the common tongue.

„You seek darkness, woman. I smell it in you, simmering. Seething“, The syllables stretched from his mouth, threaded by sibilance they crept over her skin. 

Then he waved his hand, the gesture of someone used to command. „Undress“, he said.

She obliged, like a puppet drawn by a string. Buttons came loose, ties unravelled and cloth fell rustling to the floor. Curiosity flared in his leer, a spark of wonder at what might be hidden under her gown and she felt herself grow hot under his stare, a blush spreading over her cheeks and warmth sparking in her belly. 

Again he said something she didn’t understand, but there was approval under the hiss and the growl. Sitting down on the bed’s edge, he reached out his hand and without question she followed his invitation to stand closer, so close their bodies nearly touched. White stone giant against the gold of her skin. A talon, sharp as an arrow’s tip traced the line of her collarbone, dipped into the valley between her breasts and scratching over ribs, travelled down to her navel in a faint reminder of pain. Even when his hand stopped the sensation dragged on, run lower, the tug and pull of desire. 

„You are skinny, woman“, He purred into her ear. The flat of his hand pressed against the hollow of her belly and her heart beat faster. „Is that why you sell yourself? To eat?“ His tongue run over the shell of her ear and made her shiver. „How barbaric to let your own kind starve“, he muttered.

With surprise she noted the disgust in his voice but her wonder did not last long, as his palm slid deeper, cupping her mound, rubbing over it, teasing. She sighed, automatically falling into her routine of compliance. Pretence was mandatory in her line of trade and pleasure a rare response to a customer's touch. They wanted to feel desired, that was the deal, that was what they paid for. She knew how to simulate it well enough to delude them and they’ve never cared for more but the illusion. 

Not this one though. She knew it before she met his fury, when the inquisitive fingers retracted from her sex turned out to be smeared with scented oil instead of bodily fluids.

„What is this?!“, he growled, not a trace of amusement in his voice. „A trick?“ 

She did not know how to explain the whore’s custom. „It’s oil. To prepare…“, she stuttered. „The Elves of the Woodlands…“ 

„Skah albai“, he spat. „Duguurz ilid-hai.* What’s your business with this filth?!“ 

„Nothing. It’s just… we… the people of Laketown, we trade…“ 

He looked at her, distaste clear on his face, nostrils flaring with revulsion.

„Wash it off“, he demanded and trembling she turned for the washing bowl. The water was icy, nearly freezing, and its chill dampened what arousal there had been beneath the shame. She washed carefully, before she dared to look at him for further instructions.  

„Get on the bed“, he said. There was still a spark of anger in his voice that made the fear bubble up inside her again. Biting her lip she complied, trying not to wonder what might happen next. Just keep breathing, she thought as she lay back against the soft pillows and furs.

He leaned over her, muscles straining against his skin. Beneath his bulk, the room seemed to be closing in on her, his presence suffocating, and she gasped for air, the terror viscid in her lungs. 

„Open your mouth“, he said, uncorking a bottle that was black and ghastly looking. When she obeyed, he tipped it over. Fluid splashed into her mouth that bit like liquid flames, a blaze on her tongue. She coughed and choked but in the end, managed to swallow the brew. It burned down her gullet, steaming in her belly, working its spell. Soon the sting faded into dull comfort and a strange sensation of light-headedness and somehow the fear had disappeared with it. 

He took a deep pull himself and obviously delighted by the way it cauterised his throat, he laughed. Then, without warning, he turned the bottle upside down again and poured the rest of the liquid over her cunt. He held her down as she gasped and jerked under his grasp and the acid stung and burnt. Again the creature only chuckled, not in the least perturbed by her discomfort.

„Now that you’re clean again“, he said. „shall we begin?“ 

He waited for her timid nod though before he stretched out his arm. Fingers, warm and rough, traced her collarbone. His hands roamed her body, as she lay there, splayed on the covers for his eyes and his touch. Calluses chafing her nipples, his palms cupping her breasts,  she moaned again – unsure whether from a sense of duty or actual pleasure. Her cunt was still burning and wet, but she could not decide if it was only the booze. Perhaps, and a guilty blush rose to her cheeks at the thought, perhaps she liked his caress. 

„Better“, he whispered as he leaned closer. Again this whiff of embers in the air and the heat of dragon fire. She eased into his hands, trying to leave all worries behind her. In her guts still simmered the courage of his potion. 

His cock, thick and heavy, fell against her leg, unsettling reminder of their deal. She had not dared to look at him - at it - before; there were still limits to her depravity. As a rule, she had only lain eyes upon a man’s member when business absolutely required it, thus keeping as much of her propriety as possible. But now she could not suppress another rush of excitement at the thought.

Though before she could sneak a glance, he lowered his head again to kiss her, more urgent this time, rough tongue tracing the rim of her teeth, lips pressing against hers, sucking. A hint of fangs. A sound escaped her throat that clearly wasn’t pretence anymore. 

One of his hands slid down the length of her torso, over her sensitive flank, nails scratching over her hip bone. Another wave of heat. Another approving chuckle. A finger run through her folds and her breath hitched. Carefully he opened her up, the coarse skin so good against her slickness, it made her whine with delight. His fingers trailed through her cunt, purposeful, finding the centre of her pleasure. Then confident strokes accompanied by soft growls in his language of snakes and soon trembles in her thighs. 

She could nearly feel the satisfied twist on his lips as her breathy moans turned into desperate whimpers, and her icy body mellowed and thawed. Just when she thought, she’d come undone under his touch, he withdrew his hand. She followed the course of his fingers, as he raised them to his mouth, tasting her. 

„So sweet", he said. „So ready.“ He leaned down to kiss her again and to share the taste of her cunt. Outrageously dirty, she thought as she licked her own fluids from his lips. And he had been right, the taste was indeed thrilling and sweet. Without thinking, her hands clutched at his shoulders, his neck, and she kissed him back, the thrust of her tongue bold, mouth wet with passion. She had kissed men, but never like this, never without restraint, without hesitation. When she pulled away to draw breath, he leaned back against the head of the bed, stretching lazily, a pleased purr in his chest. The muscles rippled under his pale skin, tendons flexed. This time she looked. 

His cock was thick and as white as the rest of his body, slightly curved upwards, the tip blunt, wide and pinkish. At first glance it looked just like a human’s tool, but on closer inspection, it had a roughened trail on top, like some sort of knobs or scales. Towards the root it broadened into a crown of horny skin that on the underside thinned into a netlike structure, covering the balls. The skin in between appeared just as silky as one might have expected.

Without thinking she reached out a hand to touch it. It twitched slightly under her fingertips. Quickly she pulled back and again he laughed. Wrapping his own fingers around his cock, he stroked its length, once, twice and under his practised hand, it bloomed to full pride. 

„Come here“, he said and she knelt over him, legs spread, sex dripping like a honeycomb.

One of his hands reached up to her hipbone, holding her steady, while the other dragged his cock over her cunt, teasingly, barely dipping into the wetness. A needy whine came from her throat when he failed to slip into her the third time.

„Go on, fuck me then“, he said, words so crude and so exciting, they touched her like fingers. It was an order and a dare and it tugged at her, deep inside, so different from any command before. Duty, desire and death wish ran into one, into a lure she could not withstand and so she did the unbelievable and obeyed. 

Slowly she sank down on his cock, spreading herself around him like a fruit around a knife. But there was delight instead of pain: the stretch of him enticing, so good it made her gasp. He did not move, eyes gleaming in the dim light as he watched her taking him into her body, inch by inch; he observed the silent sounds her mouth formed and the slight sweatiness of her palms against his chest. Her body ready enough not to put up resistance, he slid into her more easily than she’d ever imagined. He kept still until he was completely buried inside her, then his hands on her hips began to guide her into a lazy rhythm. Her eyes grew wide with surprise at the pleasure of him, rubbing against her insides. The motion of her hips became more fluent, her breathing heavier. Soon she understood how to grind herself against the base of his cock, so small sparks of pleasure would erupt from her core. 

He watched her with this strange curiosity, as if he had never seen anything like her before, like she was some sort of peculiar experiment or a specimen to be studied.

„Don’t stop“, he said when she froze under his gaze and despite his smile she felt like a mouse entertaining the cat. 

All unease aside, her body was soon convinced by the utter simplicity of pleasure, the raise and the fall of her body, like the tide of her being, swashing against a cliff. She brushed herself against all resistance his body would provide, the friction perfect in all the right places. Every move a wave of pleasure, spiralling from her cunt, trembling down her thighs; she grew light like a bird, like a kite on the wind and then, just when she thought she would fly away, the sharp yank of arousal, like a chain pulling tight, anchored her in her body and the tension broke into splinters of bliss and jolts of pleasure, jerking through her limbs like lashings of a whip. 

In this moment of delirium he moved at last, rolling them over, so he came to lie between her thighs and then he pushed into her, hard, riding her orgasm like a storm scourging the sea, churning it up where it began to ebb and still until her nerves were raw and her spine melting and her cunt fluttered around him like the wings of a bird that’s been trapped in a cage of sweet agony. With his weight pinning her to the mattress, she could not fly anymore, but the lightness was growing again, and she wondered if this time she would simply dissolve around him, fade like morning fog under the sun. Yet there ware also the sharp jolts of pleasure bursting from every thrust, binding her into flesh and skin, testament to the joys of mortality. 

He looked at her all the time, hand tangled in her hair, silently mirroring the sounds she made, incoherent and desperate, and watching how she squirmed under the roll of his body against hers, the snap of his hips and the deep push of his cock. It seemed to take forever until finally his rhythm became hastier, sloppy. Rearing up above her like an animal, he drove into her one last time before he spilled his seed deep within her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Dilettantish attempt at writing sth in Black Speech, supposedly translates as follows:  
> skah = exclamation of contempt | albai = elf/elves | duguurz = filthy | ilid = elf/elves | - hai = people  
> Source: http://www.angelfire.com/empire/threekingdoms/Orkish.txt


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk... with D/s-turn.

A draft swept over her nakedness, barely a shard of the icy wind outside, that had found its way into the house through the cracks between the old wood, and already dulled by the blaze of her hearth, yet it still made her shiver. She peeled herself from the warmth of the bed and went over to the window. The lake lay still like a mirror under the starry sky and there on the shore, the mountain black like a paper cut against the moonlight. Soon, she thought. So very soon. 

„It is the disgrace of your people.“ The rumble of his voice made her jump. She had thought him sleeping. When she turned around and looked at him, he said: „How they treat their women. Like cattle.“ The same disgust as earlier, when he had spoken about elves. 

„I don’t understand…“, she said. 

„I’ve seen the darkness in your eyes. Smelt it on you. The same darkness I’ve seen in warriors before a battle, it fills every fibre of your being. It’s what you are. You want to die.“ 

His gaze found the truth in her eyes before he continued.

„If you were a man, you would find a way to fulfil your desire. For men there is always a cause for which to give their life. But you are a human woman, weakest of creatures in these lands and instead of glory and fame, you dream of being slain and devoured.“ 

„How do you…“, she stuttered. „I never…“ 

„Do you think, you’re the first? The only one? Everywhere I go, the likes of you litter the streets, the hungry, the sick, the desperate. There is no room for them in the wealthiest of communities nor in the richest of cities, not in the north, not in the south. Yet it is my people you call mindless beasts.“ 

She saw the anger gathering on his forehead like a storm and where mere moments ago she had believed to be above fear, this was proving her wrong. 

„Please forgive me…“, she said. „It was never my intent to insult you.“ 

„And still you took me to your home, planning to make me the tool of your demise.“

When she did not answer, he said: „So, if you’ll ask me, I shall do it. I do not care about this life of yours or whatever payment you deem fit for your services. May it be coin or knife…“ 

She turned around, trying to hide the emotions flickering over her face. Relief. Sadness. Dread. Longing. There it finally was, the offer she’d been waiting for, more politely perhaps than expected, but still: the dragon’s kiss. And it scared her senseless. Blindly she watched the unperturbed water. To the North the LonelyMountain stared back at her, like a thousand times before, and above the bottomless terror serenity spread like a blanket. The stars above shone bright and cold and there was nothing but emptiness in her heart. She did not look at him when she answered. „Do it then. End it.“ 

The bed creaked under his bulk as he moved but his steps were as silent as a cat’s. She sensed him drawing closer though and she braced herself, willing her heart to slow, her breathing to still. Don’t think, she said to herself. He paused behind her, merely inches away. She could feel his body heat like an oven, already familiar. 

„That mountain…“, he said, following her gaze. „Have you ever climbed to its top? Walked its crest and its gorges, delved into its hollows and caves?“ 

She shook her head; she was not even sad about that. What did she care about stone and rock? 

„There is nothing more beautiful than the air up on the peak, sharp and free, the world to your feet, and nothing more homely than the embrace of a cavern’s dark...“

His fingers traced the tendons of her neck.

„I miss that, you know. The simplicity. The truth. The customs of my people. But instead of honouring their ways, I steal myself into your cities like a shadow, to learn of yours. And all I see is weakness and cowardice. You are selfish beings, petty-minded and arrogant. It is a tiresome task, to get to know you, yet it has to be done by those chosen to lead.“ 

His hand trailed over her shoulder, down her arm. Without thinking she leaned into him, into safety and peril. She felt his desire stir and waken against her naked back, strange comfort to her desperation. The sprawl of fingers more possessive on her skin. She had already given him her life, hadn’t she? 

„We were made warriors, created to fight, to conquer“, he whispered into her ear, fingertips rubbing her nipples, his thigh spreading her legs.

„Strong.“ He pushed her up against the chill of the window, and she gasped with shock as the icy glass pressed against her skin.

„Proud.“ With his cock nudging lightly at her opening, a moan rose, unbidden from her chest, a small puff of warmth over melting crystals.

„And fierce.“ He entered her in one smooth thrust and her body clutched at the intrusion with avid, treacherous greed. 

This time he was less gentle; his fingers clawed at her hair, yanking her head backwards, his massive frame trapping her against the window pane, exposing her to a nonexistent observer.

„I wonder“, he breathed against her skin, „if maybe all you want is escaping your shame and your guilt. If maybe you are just looking for someone to take control.“ Her body twitched around him in response and excitement and he smiled against her neck, sharp teeth glittering. „That’s what I thought.“ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where my muse left me.  
> So, honestly, I don't know what happened next.  
> Maybe he snapped her neck as promised when she least expected it.  
> Perhaps he took her with him and she became Princess of Gundabad and Queen of Moria and Bolg's mummy.  
> Or she just went on an adventure to the east.  
> Imagine whatever you like.
> 
>  
> 
> Theories, comments and random musings are highly welcome.


End file.
